


If I'm

by 796116311389



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But it isn't directly addressed in this fic, But its in the way I wrote Sherlock not actually discussed or addressed, Ficlet, It ends on a hopeful note, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Mary, Post S3, Real brief idle thoughts of suicide, Series 4 never happened, Sherlock Holmes Has Low Self-Esteem, Unrequited Love, mentions of Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14813618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/796116311389/pseuds/796116311389
Summary: Sherlock picks at the quick of his thumb. His nails are too short. He looks at it and frowns. He's started to bleed a little. The skin is torn.He can't stop picking though.He knows he's no good.





	If I'm

Sherlock picks at the quick of his thumb. His nails are too short. He looks at it and frowns. He's started to bleed a little. The skin is torn.

He can't stop picking though.

What's a little pain after everything he's made others suffer?

What's his pain compared to the hurt he's caused John?

He feels sick. It's a heavy feeling in his stomach. A tightening in his lungs. A tension in his muscles.

He knows. He knows he's no good.

It's always been wishful thinking. A dying wish. Maybe he's already dead and he's trapped in a horrible loop of watching his life pass before his eyes and when he finally reaches death, he'll relive it over again.

Every thing he's ever done. Over and over for all eternity. It's the least he deserves.

Right? Isn't he horrible? He deserves this, doesn't he?

He wishes he could stop breathing right then and there. In the back booth of Speedy's. Just drop dead. But that would just restart the loop, so what would be the point?

He's so focused on his thumb, he doesn't realise John is there and covering his hand to stop him until he is.

Sherlock stills. He looks up from his thumb into John's face. John is leaned across the table and smiling weakly.

"Hello John." He says neutrally. He can barely breathe, but for John he will pretend.

"Hey, you." John's smile becomes something more without really changing. There's a depth to it now that was missing a moment before. Sherlock has always loved this about John, his expressive face and myriad of expressions that convey everything and nothing at the same time. John's hand moves from resting atop Sherlock's to gently sliding into his palm and holding firmly.

Sherlock feels like his whole body is being held with that touch. It makes breathing just a little bit easier.

"Sherlock." John says softly. Sherlock watches him silently waiting for him to continue, but John just smiles at him, his eyes searching Sherlock's face. Sherlock can feel John's fingers rub his skin where they're positioned against his wrist. He wants to sigh and slump into his seat, the affection in this simple touch threatening to undo him.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock keeps his face impassive, blank, as he says this to John. He is sorry. For everything.

He's sorry for 'dying' all those years ago. He's sorry for coming back.

He's sorry for Mary, for who she was and who she wasn't. He's sorry about the baby that never was.

He's sorry for everything, but most of all himself. He's sorry he failed John.

John's forehead wrinkles and his other hand joins the first keeping Sherlock from running, though Sherlock doubts he could run away at this point. He's not sure he can feel his legs. His whole body is numb.

"Hey, no. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all." John's voice is soft and reassuring, but it makes Sherlock want to cry all that much more. It's not right that John should be so gentle with him.

Sherlock forces air and words out of his lungs again, "I have everything to be sorry for. Because of me you've lost everything you've ever loved. All I am is darkness in your life."

John lets go of Sherlock's hand and gets up from the booth. It kills Sherlock to drive John away, but it's for the best.

Though, of course, John always surprises him.

It's a universal constant at this point.

John comes to Sherlock's side of the booth and sits down right next to him. He slips his arm around Sherlock and pulls him close. They are pressed together from knee to hip and hip to shoulder.

Sherlock can smell John's aftershave. _Polo._

After a few moments of sitting together half embraced, Sherlock relaxes a little. John has always steadied him. John takes a deep breath when he feels Sherlock melt into him slightly. Then he begins to speak softly, intimately into Sherlock's ear.

"Sherlock. I need you to listen to what I'm about to say. I need you to know that I have not lost everything I've loved because of you. You have given me everything. Everything Sherlock. If you are darkness, then I'm the corner that embraces you. You are my world.

"I only got involved with Mary because at first I needed to get over you and after you came back I wanted to hurt you for hurting me. If anything I'm the one who has taken everything you've loved.

"But she's gone, Mary is gone. Moriarty is gone. All that's left is you and me. Just the two of us. And that's all I need Sherlock. It's all I ever wanted.

"I love you."

Sherlock wants to believe him. Wants to believe that he can be loved and that John would love him.

But.

How could someone love him?

"You can't." His voice is deep and quiet, but he knows John heard him because he tenses up next to him.

Tentatively, John whispers, "I can't? Why can't I?"

Sherlock sighs deeply, "Let's go upstairs. I don't want to discuss this here."

John looks at him and frowns, but stands up and holds Sherlock's hand as he gets up.

He doesn't let go of Sherlock's hand even after their standing. Sherlock's heart stutters. People will see. People will think John is in a relationship with him when John absolutely cannot be in a relationship with him.

John pulls on his hand slightly and leads them out of Speedy's and up into 221B.

It's been a couple of weeks since the last time John came by. Sherlock has been avoiding doing anything around the flat and he knows it's a mess.

John looks around, but doesn't say anything. He leads them to the couch and sits them down.

"We're alone now. Tell me why I can't love you?"

Sherlock can't look John in the eyes so he focuses on a water stain on the coffee table before telling John neutrally, "I'm no good at this John. You are better off staying away from me. I'll hurt you no matter how hard I try not to." Sherlock swallows tightly, "I already have."

John looks at him a moment processing what Sherlock has just said before grabbing him in a fierce hug.

"Yes. You did hurt me, but I hurt you as well. Neither of us are free of culpability. But, I swear, even if it takes me the rest of my life, I will show you that I can love you and that I do. You never meant for the awful things we've experienced to happen and intent is everything, Sherlock. You are the best man I've ever known and, I know you don't think this, but you are also one of the kindest."

John leans back, but keeps one arm around Sherlock and brings his other hand up to cradle Sherlock's face. John looks straight into Sherlock's eyes, "I love you. I will tell you again and again as often as you need it and then once more just in case."

Sherlock looks at John's face and from eye to eye. He whispers in awe, "You do." Then he leans his head forward onto John's shoulder.

He's so exhausted, but he feels safe here like this with his face in John's neck, John's arm around his back rubbing small circles, and John's other hand in his curls cradling his head.

He feels relief.

They have so much to discuss and so much to work through, but here like this Sherlock knows.

Sherlock knows he is forgiven and that he can forgive.

He knows that he is loved.


End file.
